Born to Scandal. Diane GastonЧитать онлайн книгу.
three tries, she composed the letter as well as she could. She ended it with: You must come, Lord Brentmore. You must. Your son needs you.
Four days passed, too soon to hear back from Lord Brentmore. If he answered her right away, his letter could arrive tomorrow. Meanwhile she would do what she’d been doing since the doctor’s ridiculous call. Keep the children busy.
Today they were outside again, taking advantage of glorious blue skies and bright sunshine. The weather had been cool for early June, but today the sun felt deliciously warm.
Anna dressed the children in old clothes, old gloves and perched wide-brimmed straw hats on them. She marched them outside to a small square near the kitchen garden that the gardener had prepared for planting at her request.
She and Charlotte had loved planting seeds and watching them grow into beautiful flowers, so why would Lord Cal and Dory not like such an activity as well? Besides, they had been so confined, it would be lovely for them to get a little dirty.
She made the whole enterprise a school lesson. In the school room they had read books about how plants grew from seeds. She’d discussed with the gardener what they might plant. He had suggested vegetables instead of flowers. Boys, he said, would value vegetables over flowers.
An excellent idea! Much more appealing to the practical Lord Cal, she was sure. Plus, eventually they could eat what they planted.
‘We’re going to plant peas and radishes and we are going to care for the plants until they are ready for eating,’ Anna told the children as they walked towards the small plot of tilled earth.
As they reached the garden plot, a man stepped forwards. ‘Good morning, miss.’
Anna smiled at him. ‘This is your gardener, Mr Willis.’ Mr Willis, a kindly man with children of his own, had proved a willing participant. ‘Mr Willis, Lord Calmount and Lady Dory.’
Mr Willis had told her that he’d rarely even glimpsed the children up to now, even though he’d worked on the estate their whole lives.
Anna’s anger burned at the thought of these children living as recluses. They’d been sheltered, clothed and fed, but not much more from what she could tell.
She had a theory about why Lord Cal had ceased speaking. It was not out of lunacy—he’d stopped speaking because no one but his sister had been there to listen to him.
‘Are you ready for planting, then?’ Mr Willis said.
‘We are, sir,’ Dory replied.
The gardener handed each of the children a small shovel. He showed them two wooden bowls.
Pointing to one, he said, ‘These are the radish seeds.’ He put one seed in each of their hands. ‘See? It is brown and it looks a little like a pebble, does it not?’
‘It does look like a tiny pebble!’ Dory cried.
Cal placed his seed between his fingers and examined it up close.
Mr Willis put his hand out to collect the seeds, replacing them with two other ones. ‘Now these seeds look a little different. Can you tell what they are?’
Cal looked at his seed and quickly put a smug expression on his face.
‘They look like old peas!’ Dory said.
The gardener stooped down to her level. ‘That is because that is what they are. The peas you eat are really seeds.’
Soon Mr Willis had them digging troughs in the dirt with their shovels. Next he showed them how to plant the seeds, starting with one row of peas, alternating with one row of radishes.
Soon they were happily placing the seeds in the trough and carefully covering them with soil. Anna was pleased that Cal participated in the activity with enthusiasm. She gazed at him, so absorbed in his planting and looking for all the world like a normal boy.
He needed time, she was convinced. Would his father give him time or would he lock him away in an asylum? Who was she to know better what a boy needed than a trained physician?
But she did know.
Would Lord Brentmore see his son as she did? Would he trust her to bring the boy out of his bashfulness? She could do it, she knew. She’d done it for Charlotte.
Charlotte.
Sometimes she missed Charlotte so much it hurt. She missed talking to her, confiding in her, laughing with her. There was no one here at Brentmore to talk to. Sometimes at night she wanted to weep out of loneliness.
And yet worse than the loneliness was the worry that Lord Brentmore would discharge her for being so brazen as to tell him and a physician what they should do. What would she do if she lost this lonely job?
Suddenly a shadow fell over her and a man’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Why are my children digging in the dirt?’
Mr Willis snapped to attention and the children froze.
Anna turned and faced an enraged Lord Brentmore.
‘My lord.’ She made her voice calm, though her legs trembled. ‘We are engaged in a botany lesson. We are planting peas and radishes.’
The children dropped their seeds and scampered behind her skirts.
‘My children will not dig in dirt.’ His voice shook with an anger that mystified her. What was wrong with planting a garden?
‘Let me explain,’ she began in a mollifying tone. ‘We would not wish to frighten the children, would we?’
His eyes flashed.
She must take care. ‘This is a botany lesson. Your children are learning how plants grow. We’ve read about it in books and now we are going to see how seeds grow into food we can eat.’
He looked no less displeased.
Her own temper rose. ‘Your children are engaged in a useful occupation out of doors, in the fresh air, and are wearing old clothes which can be laundered. How is it you object to this, my lord?’
From behind her she heard Dory gasp. She felt Cal’s grip on her skirt.
Lord Brentmore’s eyes held hers for a long moment and she half-feared he was going to strike her.
Still, she refused to look away. It was imperative that the children not feel that enjoying themselves in useful activity was wrong.
His eyes still glittered, but he took a step back. ‘Carry on your lesson, then.’ He continued to hold her gaze. ‘Attend me when you are done, Miss Hill.’
Before she could reply, he turned on his heel and strode back into the house.
None of them moved until he was out of sight.
‘Why is Papa angry?’ Dory cried.
Anna crouched down and gave the little girl a hug. ‘Oh, I think we surprised him, didn’t we? He probably thought Mr Willis and I were making you and Cal work like field labourers!’ She said this as if it were the funniest joke in the world. ‘Come on, let us finish. Mr Willis has the rest of the gardens to tend to.’
Luckily they had almost completed the task. Only two lines required seeding. The joy that had been palpable a few minutes ago had fled, however. Their father had made it vanish.
Anna put her hand to her stomach, trying to calm herself. Here she wanted Lord Brentmore to be her ally in helping Cal, and now she had offended him for planting a garden.
Would she lose her position over a botany lesson, over finding an excuse to take the poor reclusive children out in the fine June air?
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